Rising From The Abyss
by calla lilly rose
Summary: Darry's struggles during the week Pony and Johnny were gone, and his yearning for forgiveness he never expected to get.


All rights to_ The Outsiders _belong to SE Hinton.

**Rising From The Abyss**

XXX

"We'd better go home. We can't do anything here."

I could see the pain flicker in Pony's eyes as he slightly nodded his head at me. He held tight though, not letting anything else through. He walked silently next to me and Sodapop as we left the ER, holding that burned jacket tightly in his arms. The entire week was filled with never ending moments of worry. Was he hurt? Was he hungry? Was he cold? Did he have somewhere safe to sleep? Why didn't he call? _Could_ he call? And - God forbid... was someone... _hurting ..._ him?

But as he slid into the passenger seat between me and Sodapop, it was easy to tell that the ordeal hadn't been quite as bad as I'd imagined. Not that he'd escaped unscathed either. He looked thinner and seemed pale, and what the Sam Hill did he do to his head? That part I shook off, his hair being the least of my worries. It would grow back out in time. But he seemed edgy. I'd noticed it when the reporters were questioning him. His eyes couldn't hide what his mouth wouldn't say.

He didn't like strangers, let alone people asking him things that frankly, weren't their business. Perhaps I'd let it go on too long before telling them to back off, but I already knew we were walking a very fine line. Police, social workers and even the public were against us, given that it was a Soc that had died in our territory, and two kid greasers were the cause for it.

That night. Dear God, I'll never forget that miserable night a week ago.

I'd given Pony an hour to cool off after he'd ran out of the house, figuring we both needed the space. Soda'd paced like a caged lion that hour, casting me looks of fury that slowly shifted into concern while he puffed through a pack of smokes. I guess we'd both expected him to come back relatively soon, at least within twenty minutes – but he didn't. Twenty minutes became thirty, which turned into forty, and so on until eventually an hour had gone by.

"I don't care no more, Darry... I'm going after him," Soda'd said, snuffing out a butt on the edge of the coffee table and making for the door.

"I'll go with you," I answered. We'd gotten two blocks over when the glare of blue and red lights caught our attention. Numerous black and whites were zooming toward the park. A feeling only described as a burning cold overtook me as my insides liquified. The run to the park was but a blot on my memory that I can't recall, except to note that Soda kept pace with me the whole way. A few others from the neighborhood had come outside to see what the deal was, but all we saw were cops covering up a body by the fountain. They weren't letting anyone near enough to make out any details.

"Darry?" The sharp edge in Soda's tone got my attention. Fear was an emotion rarely held by Sodapop, but it was there in his voice and reflected in his eyes just then.

I shook my head. "That kid's too big. It ain't him." Crap was always happening in our neighborhood, but something told me this wasn't something I could dismiss. By the time we'd rounded the block and headed home, there was already a cop waiting at my door. It took more strength than I thought I possessed to keep it together as I answered his questions.

_Did I know where Ponyboy was? Did I know who he was with? When was the last time I saw him? When did I expect him home? _

I had to file a missing person's report and _then_ had to explain why he was missing in the first place. There was an argument over curfew, I'd explained. He got angry, I got angry, he stormed out. I'd left out the part about my hitting him, because I knew that would be the kiss of death for us. Soda'd be removed instantly, I'd be jailed, and wherever Pony was, he'd neither have a family nor a home to come back to – when he did come back. And he _would_ come back, wouldn't he?

I'd prayed nonstop the whole week that he would. Somehow, someway, he had to come back. He just had to.

Word travels fast in our neighborhood. The guys were over before dawn, our social worker and a rep from child welfare by nine. More questions - followed by the same answers. _No, I didn't know where he was. No, I didn't know when I could expect him to come home. Yes, if he called, I'd notify them._ They all made a production of leaving my place only to go up the street to Johnny's house. Seems they were there longer, and Steve had noticed a cop car pulling up to join them too.

I'd spent most of the first two days in some official's office, either making a report or signing one. Work was also calling, and begrudgingly I had to commit a few hours to that as well. The few hours I wasn't in an office or on a roof worrying about them – as it was clear both Pony and Johnny had to be together, I was searching almost every square foot of Tulsa for them. I left nothing to chance, knowing the one place I wouldn't look would be the one place they'd be.

Naturally I started with the usual hangouts. Library's, theaters, skating rinks. Nothing. Then places kids could get lost in right in the open – the strip mall, the ribbon and the bowling alley. No one had seen them. Then, I had to resort to all the dread places they could be, places I wouldn't even allow Sodapop to go, even as tough as he is. Places I highly doubted even Dallas would hang out in. Places where crime was the norm and drugs were as obtainable as candy. But I had to go, I had to check. But I didn't go alone.

Tim had a few idea's of places they could be, but like he told me, "If they're there, it ain't gonna be good." I understood what he meant, but the full scope wouldn't hit me until I'd actually seen it.

Tiger Alley, a section of town down by the river bottom, made our worn out streets look like high living. We checked out abandoned warehouses and slipped inside condemned buildings. A few of these places were home to cast-offs and runaways; I saw kids as young as Pony lying around, drunk and stoned from everything from marijuana to heroin, some with needles still laying by their arms. The stench of dope and urine coated everything – including the kids laying like throw rugs on ragged piles of burlap and discarded bits of furniture. Some of them were awake enough to look at us, but the glazed, blank reflections told me no one was home. Rat droppings were everywhere, and I shuddered to think what the vermin were eating.

"The kids ain't here. Let's go." We went to three other places like that before calling it quits. I never told Sodapop what I'd seen, just that Ponyboy wasn't on the river bottom and he wasn't to go there looking either. He wouldn't, as he'd found leads of his own.

"Dal's out of lock-up," he'd said that night. His tone strained and his eyes hard. Everyone was over, as they'd essentially been since Sunday morning.

"And?"

"He ain't saying anything. But... I know he knows where they are."

"Because...?"

"I just ... know ... he knows."

What he knew and how he knew, he didn't say. I did catch him cast a glance at Steve, who'd faintly shook his head back. It took another three days before I found Pony's sweatshirt – the one he was wearing when he disappeared, hidden under the mattress of their bed. By the time I got the story from Sodapop and stormed over to find Dallas, he was gone again. Buck admitted to loaning him his T-Bird and had watched as Dallas headed for the freeway like a bat out of hell. Once again, my chance at finding Ponyboy - gone.

Hours later, I wondered how much deeper we could conceivably collapse into this abyss of despair before there was nothing left of either of us. I sat in the living room, my chair up against a wall where - on the other side of that same wall lay Sodapop, trying unsuccessfully to stifle the sobs that had flowed every night this week. We grieved in different ways; Soda outwardly, me, inward. I couldn't afford the luxury of tears, but felt the searing pain of loss just as much. While he cried – not just for Pony but for Sandy too, the fingers of my left hand trailed along the worn lines of my right.

Calluses and scars from months of arduous work padded my skin. I suffered in silence a lot, laughing it off when the boss was looking. I'd taken a spill or two from a roof, hammered my own thumb when my attention was lax, and pulled more muscles than I cared to think of. Nothing was ever reported, knowing I'd risk losing everything I was working for if I did. But now there was another scar on my hand, a scar only I could see. A scar I'd have gladly cut my hand off for if I could have prevented it from happening in the first place.

It was the hand I'd hit Ponyboy with.

The phone rang. Before a second ring had a chance to sound off, the receiver was in my hands.

"_This is Amy Sedgewick, a nurse from Tulsa General Hospital. Are the parents of Ponyboy Curtis available?"_

"Sodapop!" I needn't have yelled. From the moment the phone rang, he was already at the end of the hallway – watching and waiting, eyes red but face dry. He had his shoes on faster than I could find my keys. I ended up using his instead.

"_How is he? What happened to him? Where's he been?"_ Soda fired one question at me after another the whole way down. Unfortunately, I had the same questions, as the nurse didn't give me any more information except to say they were bringing in three youths that had been injured in a fire, one of which had Pony's wallet. She refused to say more, as their conditions were... _unstable_... at that time. What the hell did that mean?

But once at the hospital, Soda tore ahead of me. He'd found Pony first, embracing him in a bear hug so tight that ribs could be bruised. Unfortunately, I only got to witness half of their reunion, as the reality of what I'd done hit me again, and tears brimmed to obscure my vision.

Facing me not ten feet away was my youngest brother; not drowned in a fountain, high on drugs or burned beyond recognition in a fire. He was a little worse for wear and filthy beyond imagination, but he was alive and whole and smiling as Soda held and rocked him as if he were two again. I wanted to be a part of that, to hold him like he and Soda held each other, tell him I was sorry, that I loved him, that I wanted him home, that I'd do damn near anything to have him forgive me. But, as much as I'd wanted to, I knew my chance was gone. Still, I had to try...

"Ponyboy..." My voice hitched and I couldn't say anything more. He simply stood there, so close to Soda that light couldn't pass between them while staring at me. My vision obliterated and I knew I'd lost the battle for control. Tears slid down my face as my insides shook, and I was glad the guys weren't here to see it.

"Darry!"

I lifted my head enough to see a blur, then felt his arms around me, his fingers digging into my back. I wrapped my arms around him too, realizing how lucky... how _damn_ lucky I was. Even if I lost him later to the courts, at least I had him back in my life.

"Darry, I'm sorry."

Words that had once sounded so trite and empty were now food for a starving soul. _He_ was sorry? _No, baby... I'm the one that's sorry._ My fingers raked his hair as he pressed his body to mine. "Oh Pony, I thought we'd lost you … like we did Mom and Dad..."

We were like that for a moment, Soda stepping closer but letting us just be in that moment again. It'd been a long time since I was just his oldest brother, and as much as I'd wished it could stay that way, I had to get control and resume the role of guardian. A doc came over, clearing his throat to get our attention before leading us back into an exam room.

"He's got some burns on his arms and chest, but nothing that will require any further treatment. The jacket he was wearing saved him from serious injury, so for now, it's more like a sunburn than anything else. He's a very lucky young man. If there are any issues that come up later, you can take him to his regular pediatrician or, of course, bring him back here. Any questions?"

"How are Johnny and Dallas?"

The doc wasn't expecting that. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, adjusted the clipboard in his hands, then answered.

"I'm sorry, but I can only release information about a patient to family. Are you related to Mr. Cade or Mr. Winston as well?"

Soda started to say something, but I held out a hand to silence him. "No, but Johnny's parents aren't very involved in his life. He spends most of his time at my house and we all care for him. If Johnny's … able to talk, ask him. He'll tell you the same thing. As for Dallas... he lives on his own. His closest relative is his father, who I think lives in New York. They've not spoken in years."

"I take it you sort of watch over your friends?"

The doc asked as if he already knew the answer and was just asking to be polite. It wasn't rare to see kids from our neighborhood in the ER, but I think it probably _was_ unusual to have someone actually care enough to be here and ask about them.

"I have custody of my brothers, but I look out for our friends too. They're not bad kids, just kids with bad luck. Johnny's a good kid, but if you're waiting for his parents to come down and check on him, well, it'll be a long wait. They didn't seem concerned that he was gone, and," I looked out at the two or three people milling about, "I don't see them rushing down here to be by his side. And Dallas's father probably never knew he was gone in the first place. So, how bout it, sir? I just want to know how they are."

He seemed to be weighing something, then blinked. "I'll see what I can find out for you, but I can't promise anything. Now, I think the officer's have some questions."

I turned my head. The waiting room had turned into a small press conference. Cops, reporters and photographers were buzzing about. I had hoped to avoid this, but it quickly ballooned out of my control. Sodapop was circling the pack like a lunatic just escaped from the looney bin while Pony sat and tried to answer questions. The cops, meanwhile, were filling me in on the upcoming legal problems we'd be facing in the very near future.

I knew it was coming, but to get an official Notice To Appear by the cops was unnerving. I'd just gotten him back, and now could lose him again. I pocketed the citation and headed over to Pony, who looked like he was close to his wits end with the press.

I sat next to him and they backed down for a moment, then got pushy again. When he gave me a frustrated, uncertain, and discombobulated look, I made sure they knew I wasn't going to let them railroad Ponyboy just to get a headline, and they got the point. Eventually, they lost interest and left. Soda had also given up, stretched out on the seats next to me and used my thigh as a pillow. Pony had also leaned against me, but wouldn't give in to sleep. On either side of me were what was left of my family, and I had one hand on each. For now, we were together. There we sat until the doc came back out. His news wasn't good at all.

Dallas had some burns on his arm, but because Ponyboy had been wearing his jacket, he'd had no protection from the flames. I felt sorry for him, but tempered it knowing first that it was Dallas himself who'd sent the boys away, and second that if Dal had been wearing the jacket, then Ponyboy would have been burned instead. That thought sent shivers down my spine. Anyway, Dallas would be fine. A few scars after his arm was healed, but nothing else. Knowing Dallas, he'd like that better. Johnny, however, was a different matter.

I knew from listening in to what Pony'd told the reporters that Johnny wasn't going to be in good shape, but hearing it straight from the doctor was still a blow. Three words stood out ... _Paralyzed. Burned. Shock. _Everything else just blended into the background. I knew that meant Johnny probably wouldn't make it, but I wasn't sure if Pony was registering the same understanding. He'd blanched, noticeable even through the layers of soot, dirt and sweat covering him. I put an arm over him to steady him.

The news had sobered Sodapop up as well. I had to get them out of here, I wanted to get them home. I thanked the doc and turned them toward the door.

We'd barely made it a mile from the hospital when I'd noticed his hand had gone limp as it lay next to my thigh. Glimpsing sideways, he was asleep on Sodapop's arm. Soda's eyes met mine momentarily and I was surprised he was still awake, considering how exhausted he seemed.

"I'll wake you up when we get home, if you want to nod off too."

"Nah," he softly said, tracing the knuckles on Pony's other hand as it lay on his filthy knee. "I'm good."

"He sure is dirty, ain't he?" I chuckled softly, trying to stay awake.

"He's home, that's all that matters."

I put my hand over Pony's, feeling his thin fingers curl up in my hand. "Yep," I said while a million other ways this could have ended went through my head. "He's home."

XXX

Calla Lily Rose

A/N: Lines from _The Outsiders_ used without permission. If caught, someone feed my bird and fish for me. Thanks!


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